


Rum and Sweet Apples (The Tortuga Remix)

by Cinaed



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth was drunk the night Anamaria took her on as a hand aboard the <i>Lady Morgan</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rum and Sweet Apples (The Tortuga Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Erinya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erinya/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Rum and Sweet Apples](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/3104) by Erinya. 



> Thanks goes out to schlicky for looking this over for me! Some of the dialogue in the story comes directly from Erinya's fic. Erinya, I hope you enjoy the story!

“I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,  
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;  
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover  
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.”

-         “Sea-Fever” by John Masefield

 Miss Elizabeth Swann, all agreed, had been a singularly _unique_ child. Her father’s friends and acquaintances had murmured polite phrases of, “Such a…forthright, strong-willed child,” upon meeting her, wearing fixed smiles and not quite meeting her father’s eyes.  

 The cook, safe and secure in her kitchen, had once put it more bluntly. “She’s a blood-thirsty little thing,” she’d said, shaking her head. “She’ll come to a bad end, I don’t doubt.” Elizabeth, eavesdropping, had wondered with interest what exactly a bad end involved.  

 Starting at the tender age of six, Elizabeth had coaxed stories of pirates and sea battles from the servants. She’d pictured herself at sea, sometimes as the captain of an honorable Navy ship, sometimes as the pirate queen. In every circumstance, the fantasy ended with her triumphant, the ship’s deck run red with blood.

 Those daydreams had not prepared her for how it would feel to run someone through, the way the sword felt in her hand as the blade parted flesh and skidded against bone before striking the fatal blow, the look in a man’s eyes as life faded.

 They had certainly not prepared her for the look in Jack’s eyes, the shock shifting to something like respect as she left him to the kraken’s mercy. Or the way Will would look at her when she’d told him what she’d done and wept.

 So this was her bad end. Jack was gone, paying his due to Davy Jones, betrayed by a kiss and a chain. Will was gone as well, leaving her with hard words and no backwards glance. He hadn’t understood that she’d loved them both, had seen instead betrayal in her grief.

 The rum helped, if not to dull the memories, then at least to muddle them until she could almost forget the way Jack had watched her leave, and the cold look in Will’s eyes as he’d left her.

 But now the rum was gone. Elizabeth licked her lips, chasing the last of the now beloved drink. Tortuga was bountiful with alcohol and other distractions, but she had no money in her purse and no means to earn more. Her head pounded and her stomach growled, both demanding that she fill her belly somehow.

 The public room was filled with the strong stench of unwashed pirates and tobacco, abusing her senses until she swayed, dizzy, hands groping for purchase in the air and finding nothing to hold her steady.

 Nothing, that was, save for the pawing advances of a few pirates, leers on their faces. They growled coarse suggestions in her ears that would have made her blush had she had any emotion left in her but desperation. The thought came to her then, like a distant, dreamy thought, that one of these men might buy her some rum and perhaps some food as well. Another thought followed sluggishly after, protesting she was not that far gone.

 She was mulling over the last thought, because if the tremors in her hands and spinning of her head were anything to go by, she _was_ indeed that far gone, when the men suddenly vanished, drawing away from her like the ebbing tide.

 Elizabeth had a few seconds of confusion before she felt a gentle hand upon her hip and a woman’s voice murmured into her ear, deep and warm, “Let me have you for the night, my girl. These men wouldn’t know how to treat the likes of you.”

Elizabeth turned, and met familiar dark eyes. An emotion welled in her throat. It took a moment for her to recognize it as relief. “You,” she said to Anamaria. “I know you.”

Anamaria’s expression was impossible to read. For a second, Elizabeth had heard and seen desire in the other woman’s voice and face, but now that emotion was gone as though it had never existed.

“And I know you,” Anamaria said. She dropped her hand to her side. “Elizabeth, isn’t it?”

Elizabeth nodded. She remembered how Anamaria had been aboard Jack’s ship, flashing the occasional conspiratorial grimace Elizabeth’s way, as though they were in agreement regarding the insanity of Jack’s latest ridiculous notion. “You’re…you were Jack Sparrow’s friend. Anamaria.” Only two months gone, and Jack’s name still choked her with grief and regret and a half-dozen other emotions. 

Something flickered in Anamaria’s eyes. Elizabeth rather thought it was surprise. “Jack and I were hardly friends,” she drawled with a wry twist of her lips. “But I sailed with him, aye.” The woman gave her an assessing look, eyes narrowing in obvious consternation. 

For the first time in weeks Elizabeth was aware of her ill-kept appearance-- the tattered state of her dress, the damages that a lack of sleep and washing would have inflicted upon her person. She fought the urge to blush and smooth the wrinkles from her dress. It wouldn’t do any good.  

“What are you doing here?” Anamaria asked. “This ain’t any place for a lady.”

Elizabeth couldn’t meet her eyes. She had no right to even the vestiges of pride, not with Jack’s blood on her hands, but she couldn’t prevent the spark of anger that sharpened her words. “I’m hardly a lady anymore. And I’ve nowhere else to go.” Her father must think her dead by now, which she felt was a kindness. It would have killed him to see her like this, in this place with these people.  

“You’re a fair hand on board a ship, ain’t you?” Anamaria asked. Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat, and she had to resist the urge to nod too fervently in agreement. Anamaria added, “Seem to recall you had a knack.” The other woman paused, a slight frown flitting briefly across her face before a determined look replaced it. “I’ve a place on my sloop, if you want it.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, almost before Anamaria had finished speaking. An unfamiliar emotion dizzied her. It felt like hope, chasing the sharp bitter taste of rum and despair briefly from her mouth. “Yes.”

“The _Lady Morgan_ ’s set to sail in the morning,” Anamaria said. “Come along.” She strode from the public room, leaving Elizabeth to stumble after her.

Elizabeth stared at Anamaria’s back, remembering the desire that had gentled her hand upon Elizabeth’s hip and the promise in Anamaria’s voice. She shivered a little at the memory, heat warming her belly. She wondered if Anamaria would approach her once more. Then she frowned. Perhaps Anamaria would deny her attraction now, though Elizabeth doubted pirates had rules against captains bedding members of their crew.  

Anamaria began to speak.

“So ol’ Jack Sparrow--” she began.

“He’s dead,” Elizabeth said swiftly, inwardly wincing at the unsurprised look Anamaria wore.

“So he finally ran out of ways to cheat the devil, did he,” Anamaria said. It was not a question.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, almost gagging on the word. The memory, made sharper by the lack of rum, rose to torment her once more. She remembered the feel of Jack’s mouth against hers, how the warm vitality of him had made her ache even as she’d snapped shut the lock on his chains.

Anamaria said nothing more. When she did finally speak, they were aboard the _Lady Morgan_ , and it was a single word. “Catch.”

Elizabeth blinked, and only just managed to catch the object Anamaria casually threw at her. She stared down. It was an apple, streaked gold and crimson, warm in her hands.

“You look ready to faint with hunger, girl,” Anamaria said with a slight twitch of her lips. “I ain’t having half-starved crew. They can’t do their jobs.”

“I-- thank you,” Elizabeth said. She bit into the apple slowly, instinctively smiling at the crisp crunch of the flesh against her teeth. Oh, the fruit was sweet. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste as the juice soothed her parched throat.

When she opened her eyes, Anamaria was watching her. Desire was back in her eyes, though banked like an ember ready to spark into flames.

Elizabeth waited for Anamaria to make another gesture, to offer Elizabeth her hand and draw her into the captain’s quarters for the night. Her heart beat too quickly in her chest, and she could feel a blush redden her cheeks.

Instead Anamaria nodded towards the apple. “We’ve got plenty more where that one comes from,” she said, voice matter-of-fact. “I’ll show you to the galley, where you can eat your fill. The women have their own place to sleep. You’ll sleep there.” She paused, and for a moment Elizabeth thought she’d changed her mind. “We’ll see what jobs you can do in the morning.”

“Very well,” Elizabeth said after a moment. She wanted to laugh at herself for being disappointed. Having Anamaria in her bed would not chase the ghosts away. Only the rum could do that.

She took in a deep breath, tasting the salt in the air and letting the smell of the sea fill her nose. “Is there rum in the galley?” she asked, and ignored the dark expression that flickered across Anamaria’s face.

“Wouldn’t be a proper pirate ship without rum,” Anamaria said. She turned on heel, and after a moment, Elizabeth followed after.

The rum burned her throat, and she welcomed the pain. She ignored the disapproval in Anamaria’s gaze.

“The women sleep below deck. Go down the rungs and it’ll be the first room on your left,” Anamaria said as Elizabeth took another bite of her apple. The desire was gone once more from her eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Captain,” Elizabeth said as Anamaria turned to go, the title awkward on her lips. “Do you--” She stopped, flushing at her own daring. Did she truly want to accept Anamaria’s earlier offer? She wondered how Anamaria would kiss, if it would feel different than Will and Jack’s kisses, what it would be like to lay with a woman instead of a man.

In the back of her mind, Jack whispered, “Curious little pirate,” half-mocking, half-proud.

Elizabeth swallowed, her curiosity fleeing and replaced by all too familiar grief. “You will not have an apple with me?” she asked instead and pretended her voice wasn’t hoarse.

“Ain’t no apple I’m wanting,” she thought she heard Anamaria mutter, and then the other woman shook her head. “My bed’s calling me. Don’t stay up too late. We pirates rise with the sun.”

“Good night then,” Elizabeth said. She watched Anamaria go, and then lifted the rum to her mouth again. “Good night,” she repeated to the empty galley.

Beneath her feet, the sloop rocked gently. Beneath the sloop, deep beneath the sea's surface, Jack Sparrow was paying his dues.

She took another swallow of rum. 


End file.
